


Calcium

by slamncram (GettheSalt)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack Treated Seriously, Drinking, Hints of Skimmons/Bioquake, Inside jokes, Jiaying Wasn't Evil, M/M, Secret Warriors - Freeform, Victoria Hand as Grant's Mentor, White Russians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 14:02:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10832760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GettheSalt/pseuds/slamncram
Summary: Once upon a time, Grant and Leo were taken along on just about every mission the team did. Now, the team has gotten so big, and the world has gotten so weird, that when the Secret Warriors go out to handle new Inhumans, there's nothing for Grant and Leo to do but sit at the base and drink.And sometimes, that can lead to some pretty interesting places.(And I promise there are no weird milk kinks in this at all because I respect milk too much for that kind of thing)





	Calcium

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still not entirely sure how this happened, but it came out of a Twitter conversation where a friend said one of her students told her "drinking milk makes you gay". It was just outlandish enough that I had to try my hand on using it as a prompt to a fic. Over 3000 words later, here we are...

At some point, and Grant wasn’t sure precisely which, the world in which they lived had gotten to be extremely weird. When he’d first been brought into SHIELD by Victoria Hand, that had just been a given. SHIELD protected people from the weird things in the world that they just didn’t need or want to know about. In his first few years in the organization, Grant had seen and experienced enough weird things that, really, he should never bat an eyelash at anything else ever again. Enhanced humans, aliens, technology that interacted with humans on a level previously unknown. He’d seen it all.

And then Vic had wanted him working with Phil Coulson, and his ragtag little team. That wasn’t anything malicious. She wanted him to be working with others; his social skills and teamwork were all right, but they certainly weren’t his shining attributes. There was also the addition of the fact that, despite what Director Fury said, Vic wanted someone keeping an eye on Coulson. Someone who wasn’t in the Director’s back pocket, and had an unbiased eye for everything that would be going on aboard that plane. That was where Grant came in. It didn’t hurt that he’d fit the criteria that Melinda May had put together for a team that would be able to be efficient, should something go wrong with Coulson.

Grant hadn’t had all the details then, and he wasn’t sure he had all the details now. What he did know was that Coulson was a feat of science and that a lot of his superiors weren’t entirely sure what that could mean in the long run.

In Vic’s mind, that had meant that Coulson was more susceptible than most to the underlying threats that had been present in SHIELD all along. After seeing everything from alien tech burrowing itself into Peruvian temples, to an ordinary father supercharged with an experimental and highly temperamental formula, finding out that Hydra had been hiding within SHIELD’s ranks all along was just the cherry on top of a very weird, very jarring cake.

And his part in that had been to barricade himself in the cockpit of the Bus, and bring it in to the Hub when Vic had ordered for it to be done. That had taken away a lot of the trust that the team had with him, at first. He was supposed to be their friend, and on their side, but he had knocked out May, trapped Skye and Coulson, and barricaded himself in with the controls, to take them to someone who suspected that they all may be Hydra infiltrators. At first, it hadn’t mattered that Grant had done all that so that he could vouch for them to the agent who had been his mentor all these years; he had broken their trust and informed on Coulson every day of every month they’d spent together. They were hurt, but things could have been worse, if Hand hadn’t been ready to take his word for it. If she hadn’t trusted her protege the way he _insisted_ she did, things could have gone sideways.

Sideways before they got entirely turned upside down by the Hydra uprising and subsequent defeat.

That had taken some work to get over. Grant got that, with a little help from Victoria. He had been sneaking around behind their backs for months, and as noble as it had been, when you found that sort of thing out about someone you cared about, it could screw things up. Grant had accepted it, and accepted that he was going to have to go back to Vic’s team, working with her at the Hub, and running ops when she needed. That seemed like the best option for everyone involved.

Instead, she’d kept him assigned to Coulson, and with that team, Grant had seen the uprising of a small but determined sect of Hydra, and the beginning of a new world where there weren’t just SHIELD agents, and civilians, and Avengers. There were all of those, and Inhumans, and Skye – _Daisy_ , she was now, in homage to her parents – was one of them.

That had been something that had changed the entire team. For a while, Daisy had gone away to stay with her mother, and learn how to control her powers, but when she had come back – with a new friend in tow – she had come back with her people’s history to bolster her, and the knowledge that her mother would be there, should she ever need her.

That had led to Daisy being able to form her own team, within the ever-growing team of misfits that Coulson seemed to attract. It had started out with himself, Grant, Jemma, Leo, and Melinda. They had picked up Skye – _Daisy –_ and then Trip, and shortly after that, Mack, Hunter, Bobbi, and Kara. Daisy had come back with Lincoln, and with their new base of operations growing in size, Mace had been sent in to help Coulson in running things. And that was just their core team. Daisy’s team featured Inhumans who worked side by side with SHIELD, helping people, helping the population understand that they weren’t a threat, and protecting and helping new Inhumans with their transformations.

That was a much smaller team than their own, but Daisy and Lincoln had founded it, and so far brought in Joey Gutierrez, Elena Rodriguez, and James Taylor James. They were making headway, in their own fashion, and Grant supposed that was a good thing.

It was just, he’d seen a lot of weird things in his time with SHIELD, but he’d never quite been prepared for this kind of weird thing.

“Big Op. Lots of moving parts. Handlers needed, agents needed, a _team_ needed,” he started, biting off a large chunk of the celery stalk that _had_ been in his glass. “And for some reason, you and I are sitting here, treating each other to our favourite drinks.”

Across the counter from him, Leo Fitz, SHIELD engineer, one of the most brilliant minds Grant had ever known, shrugged. “I don’t know. I think this might be better than watching you get beat up.”

Grant scowled, and pointed across the polished wood at him with the mangled celery. “I don’t get beat up.”

Leo’s eyebrows raised, but he said nothing, lifting his glass instead to take a big mouthful of the thick red drink inside. Ice clinked as he sent it back down, nearly empty, now. “Sometimes you do.” He smiled, and Grant knew what was coming. He _knew_ that smile. That was the smile before the gentle scolding. Leo had gotten so damn good at that. “It’s a new Inhuman. A _trio_ of new Inhumans. Triplets. You know as well as I do that Daisy and the Secret Warriors should be the ones to help them out and bring them in. Keep them safe from getting snatched by Hydra.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that they could have used handlers. A team running the back end.”

“Mack.” Leo pointed out. “And Jemma. You know that Daisy would rather have Jemma in her ear than me.”

Grant rolled his eyes, thinking back to the op three weeks ago when Daisy and Jemma hadn’t been on a second frequency, and Daisy had made a pretty descriptive joke that had Jemma sputtering that _Grant_ was listening. And the whole rest of the team, but Grant, somehow, had been the one she’d pointed out. Very likely because he’d been the one sitting beside her in the van, giving her a very, very flat look.

“All right, fine. But Mack is one guy. And we both know that Daisy only tapped him in because he and--”

Leo shushed him, glancing around like there _might_ be someone else in the base’s kitchen. There wasn’t. It was just the two of them, two drinks in, after a very big pot of spaghetti, split between them for dinner. Of course, there was a chance that someone could be walking by, but that seemed very unlikely. No one tended to barge in on Coulson’s original team.

“That’s not something that Coulson _or_ Mace know about.” Leo said, quietly, swirling the ice cubes in the bottom of his glass. “And before you make some bloody smart-ass comment about how they know about Jemma and Daisy, and you and--”

“--I wasn’t going to make a smart-ass comment.”

The look on Leo’s face plainly said they both knew otherwise. Pushing his glass into the middle of the counter, Leo got off his stool and stretched, clearly having had just about enough of sitting on that. “You done?”

Picking up his own glass, Grant tipped back the rest of his Caesar, and then nodded, letting Leo take both of their glasses away. “What do you say. One more drink?”

“You read my mind.” Leo replied, dumping the half-melted ice out into the sink before setting the glasses to the side. Turning around, he leaned his hip against the counter, looking Grant over. “Is it my choice or yours? We both picked those gin and tonic shots before the food, and the Caesars were you… Do I get to make the choice, here?”

“As long as you know how to make whatever it is that you’re about to propose.”

“White Russians.”

That was a long way from what Grant had expected. The corner of his mouth tipped up in a smirk, and he turned on the stool, crossing his arms. “Say again?”

“White...” Leo narrowed his eyes, searching Grant’s face like there was a joke he wasn’t getting. “White Russians. Am I missing something?”

Shaking his head, Grant got up off his stool, and then leaned up to open the cupboard next to Leo, getting down two new glasses. “No, you’re not missing anything. But if we’re doing White Russians, then I’m taking back the bit about you making them. I’m making them. And then we can take them back to the lounge? Sit on something other than these damn stools, and wait for the others to get back from the Op we weren’t invited to?”

“You know, one may think you were bitter about being left behind, Grant Ward. But, fine by me. You make the drinks, and meet me in the lounge. Because you offered, and I actually worked on the specs for a new stealth suit for Elena, today, but all you’ve done is sit around and mope about being left out of tonight’s mission.” Leo dug his finger into Grant’s side, more playful than vindictive, and left him to it, wandering out of the kitchen, probably intent on making sure they would have the lounge to themselves. There was nothing worse than being in there with agents who were afraid to so much as hiccup around them, because they ranked higher. Some agents got a high out of it. For Grant, it was just sort of annoying.

He’d rather leave that job to Leo. Making their drinks was easy for him, almost second nature. Ice, vodka, Kahlua, milk, done. Poking his head in the fridge, Grant found that Jemma still had a container of cherries in there. She wasn’t going to miss one or two, he decided, and topped off their glasses with one each, before setting off to the lounge, hoping that Leo would be the only one there.

As he passed down the hallway – lined with shorter hallways that lead to the agent quarters – he became more and more sure that just wasn’t going to be the case. The closer he got to the lounge, the more distinct the sound of voices became. Under them, he could hear the dull rumble of yet another one of the base’s favourite first person shooter games. That meant that there were at least two agents in there, maybe more. Not exactly the kind of party he and Leo would want to put a damper on by showing up, in all their Level 8 glory.

Leo hadn’t come back to the kitchen, though, so--

“Don’t drop those.”

Grant managed not to jump at the sound of Leo’s voice, only because he’d heard quick footsteps coming his way down one of the side hallways. Leo emerged, taking one of the glasses from his hand and nodding down the hallway with his head, picking the cherry off the top of the glass and eating it. “Let’s not make it awkward for them. Come on, we can just settle in my room. Not like it will be the first time you’ve been there.”

Grant shrugged, following behind Leo as the other took the first sip of his drink. “And probably not the last, knowing us.”

The look he was given over Leo’s shoulder pulled a smirk from him. “No. Definitely not the last.”

Leo’s room wasn’t exactly _tidy_ , but it was passable. There was space enough for them in there, with the door shut to block out the noise from the lounge down the hall.

Dropping into the small, squashy couch against the wall furthest from his bed, Leo look another sip of his drink and looked up at Grant, pointing at the glass. “This tastes differently from when I’ve had it before.”

Grant nodded, taking up the space next to Leo, following his lead and eating the cherry. He always felt huge when he sat on this couch. It wasn’t really that old, and it didn’t look that small, but when you put a man his size in it, it was almost comical. It was even funnier, Leo insisted, when he imagined Grant, Trip _and_ Mack having to share the thing. The three of them were big guys, and it would be like some kind of clown couch. Right now, though, with only the two of them, it was snug, and comfortable. The perfect place to enjoy a couple of drinks and unwind.

“White Russians are Vic’s drink.” He explained, taking a sip of his own. He’d done a damn good job with this. Vic would have been pleased. “But she doesn’t like them with cream. It’s milk or nothing, for her. She says it makes them taste richer, or something.”

“Is there really that much difference?”

Leo held his glass up, peering at it critically. A scientist’s eye, as always. Smiling, Grant shrugged his opposite shoulder.

“I don’t really know. I’ve never had them the other way. You clearly have.”

“Ah, no.” Leo corrected, bringing his glass back down to take a drink. “I think the ones I’ve had have been just higher in the vodka and Kahlua content than this. But, I forget. You’re American, so you need this to be as gentle with you as possible.”

“Vic wouldn’t like to hear you talking like that.” Grant replied, conversationally.

“Victoria Hand can most definitely hold her liquor with the best of us. I’m talking about you, and only you, Grant. Then again, she’d probably be glad you’re drinking this with more milk.”

That statement right there had been something Grant hadn’t wholly expected to be made. Leo commenting that Vic would want him to have his milk made very little sense; yes, the team did, on occasion, tease Grant about the fact that, really, Hand was his hard-ass surrogate mother. That included comments about whether he was honest with her during his check-ins about whether or not he was taking his vitamins, and eating his vegetables, and things like that. The milk comment, Grant assumed, was in that same vein.

“Why, so I can grow up to have strong bones?” He deadpanned, lifting his glass to take a sip.

“No. Because milk makes you gay.”

On a list of things Grant had expected Leo to say, that hadn’t even ranked. It had been a long damn time since he’d spit out a drink, but that’s what happened, leaving Grant wiping his chin and Leo nearly howling with laughter.

“Where the _hell_ did you hear that?!”

“The _look_ on your _face_!”

“Drinking milk does _not_ make you gay. Where the hell did you get that from?”

Leo pulled himself together, wiping at his eyes. “There are some people out there who would disagree with you. And maybe they’re on to something. I mean, you say Victoria likes her White Russians with milk, and not cream...”

Grant quirked an eyebrow. “There’s literally _no_ correlation.”

“Ooh, look at you, Grant Ward.” Leo grinned, leaning into Grant’s face. “ _Correlation_. You almost sound scientific when you say that. Sadly, I still don’t think that it would sway the section of the population that really and truly believes that too much milk gives one a gay bent.”

“ _You_ are not in that section of the population, Leo.” Grant pointed out, smiling despite himself. That really was an utterly ridiculous thing to say, much less believe, but he had no doubt that there were those, out there in the world, particularly this country, who believed it. He’d heard less outlandish things.

“No, but I’ve also never studied the relation between sexuality and the quantity of milk a person consumes. Who knows. Victoria seems to be a prime example in their favour.”

With a roll of his eyes, and barely a second of thought, Grant shot back, “And did _you_ drink a lot of milk growing up, Leo?”

The quiet that settled over the other was almost immediate, and for a second, Grant wondered if he’d overstepped. There wouldn’t have been a reason for it to _be_ an overstep. Leave alone what Leo had just said about Vic – which, Grant conceded, was a point in favour of the bullshit theory – there were other certain factors at work that just couldn’t make it an overstep.

And yet. Leo was getting up from the couch, with his drink, and reaching to take Grant’s. He walked away from the couch, setting both glasses down on his dresser with a soft _clink_ , before he turned back around, eyes still not meeting Grant’s.

For a few seconds, Grant was sure Leo was about to tell him off. For a few long seconds, he was positive that he had overstepped in some way that he just couldn’t see yet.

Then, those seconds passed, and Leo was walking back over to the couch, and climbing into Grant’s lap, straddling him with a hand on his shoulder. The other slid into the short hair at the back of his head, brushing until he could get a decent handful, pulling Grant’s head back to rest against the back of the couch. Leo’s lips brushed his neck, teasing over that sensitive spot he loved so much, and Grant’s hands moved up to grip at Leo’s hips, pulling him in closer.

“As a matter of fact,” Leo murmured, shifting himself teasingly in Grant’s lap, his breath ghosting over Grant’s skin and leaving goosebumps. “I did.”


End file.
